


clouds in my coffee

by titasjournal



Category: Star Wars RPF
Genre: AU, carrison, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-01-05 20:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12196452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titasjournal/pseuds/titasjournal
Summary: Carrie Fisher is a published author who just got out of a toxic, long relatioship. Harrison Ford is a divorced father of two who owns a little coffee shop on 53rd street in New York.What will happen when they meet? Full of coffee, books and cuteness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a coffee shop au for these two for the longest time so I'm so excited to have found the perfect person to write it with! Angie is a goddess! 
> 
> The quotes in the fic are from "Surrender The Pink" by Carrie Fisher, so we don't claim them. 
> 
> I hope you like it and don't forget to tell me your thoughts on it!

The bag hanging on her shoulder weighed her down. Inside, a slick silver laptop and a little black moleskine waited to be used for the first time in months. 

 

Carrie walked into a small coffee shop on 52nd street, the big, cursive letters in the banner read: “Dorothy’s”. 

 

The strong smell of ground coffee beans and milk hits her instantly. The place is half full, a couple of students and a few adults sitting sparsely. A tiny bell sings as she closes the door behind her and looks around. Carrie picks a small, round table at the very end of the coffee shop, next to the cookie and muffin display. She walks hurriedly, brushing her hair off her face as she goes. 

 

_ Breathe, Carrie. You’ve done it once, you can do it again _ .

 

She smooths her shirt absentmindedly, though it isn’t wrinkled at all. 

 

“Hey doll, what can I get ya?” A somewhat short, blonde lady dressed in a brown apron asks in a thick southern accent. Her nearly wrinkled blue eyes run across Carrie’s features, the way her eyes move and the smile that plays on her lips giving Carrie an uneasy feeling that settles in her already stumbling stomach.  _ I guess you do see everything in New York.  _

 

“A capuchinho, please.” Carrie gives the lady a small smile.  _ Charlotte _ , the name tag read. 

 

“Comin’ right up, doll,” she struts back to the counter and prepares her order. 

 

While she waits, Carrie removes the laptop and the notebook from her bag. She sits them on the table and taps a pen on the wood.

 

_ He’s gone, _ she thought to herself.  _ You’ll never have to see him again. _ That calms her down for a millisecond before her mind starts spiraling:  _ oh no, I’ll never see him again. I’ll never feel his lips on mine, I’ll never say I love you again, I won’t have a date on national holidays! _

 

The song that was playing on the stereo changes and British rock fills up the room. Something about finding the love of your life and never wanting to let go.  _ Great!  _

 

Carrie forces herself to focus on work. She opens up the untitled document on her computer and reads the last few sentences she’d written: 

 

_ “Rudy stood with the door of the limousine open behind him. He’d thrown down the gauntlet of his indifference and now Dinah picked it up. She raised her hand in a wave.”  _

 

Words swim around in her head. What should Dinah say? It needs to be witty, sharp. It needs to be memorable, like the  _ abso-fucking-lutely!  _ at the end of the first episode of  _ Sex and the City.  _ This is Rudy and Dinah’s Carrie-and-Big moment. 

 

“ _ Don’t be a stranger,” she called with gaiety.  _

 

_ Rudy smiled.  _

 

Carrie read the last paragraph over again. It doesn’t sound perfect yet. It needs soul. 

 

_ “Don’t be a stranger,” she called with mock gaiety. “Don’t be Albert Camus.”  _

 

_ Rudy smiled. “The Outsider,” he called, correcting her. Dinah flushed.  _

 

“Here you go, ma’am,” a deep voice echoes behind Carrie, but she’s too deep in her trance to get her eyes off of the screen.

 

_ “Don’t be either of them. Don’t be anyone if you can help it,” she said, disappearing into her building.  _

 

Carrie’s hand grasps the small, white cup full of the energy she so needed. 

 

_ “Suddenly her head popped back around the corner. “Actually, it can be either one,” she said hurriedly. “I think it depends on the translation.”  _

 

“Aham,” the same voice coughs behind Carrie. “You’re welcome.” That tone is unmistakably sarcastic. 

 

Carrie spins around in her chair, in search of the mysterious voice. “Excuse me?” 

 

_ It’s a man! _ , she thinks to herself. Well, of course it was a man. She was not expecting someone like him, though. Tall, tan and incredibly handsome, a man in the same brown apron wore a smug look on his face. 

 

“Excuse you,” he cocks one eyebrow and grins. “When someone brings you what you asked for you say  _ thank you.”  _

 

“Oh sugar, it's alrigh’! This pretty doll here was just too into her squibblin’.” The older woman,  _ Charlotte _ , says to the man almost three times her size. 

 

“Still, that's no reason to be rude.” His words and his condescending tone made Carrie raise a perfectly pluck eyebrow as her eyes focused on his grayish blues, defiance blatantly shown through her freshly roasted coffee hues. 

 

Because of the indignation swirling in caused by the man's accusations, the brunette lost her train of thought and creativity on her writing.

 

“I was never meant to be rude, as you put it.” Carrie gestures around with her hand. “As this very lovely lady said, I was focused and I do apologize, however that is also no reason for _you_ to speak to a stranger, who is also a paying customer, like that.” Carrie responded back, her eyes taking in the disbelief at her words subtly playing on his scruffy yet undoubtedly handsome features. _I guess no one ever talks to you like that._ She thought silently in her head with a bit of satisfaction, taking his shocked expression at her comeback. The perfect payback for his interruption. 

 

Charlotte and the man exchange glances. His expression softens as the blonde woman grips his arm once, through his cotton shirt. 

 

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he offers. “I could’ve been less rude.” The man tries his best at a genuine smile, but fails miserably. Nonetheless, it’s adorable to observe. 

 

“‘S alright.” Carrie mumbles. She cannot take his eyes off of him, it’s insane. Now that they’re not fighting, it’s incredibly easy to get lost in his sharp features and plump lips. 

 

“Harrison,” he extends a hand at her. Under normal circumstances, she’d think this extremely unprofessional, however her recent single status plays tricks on her mind and makes her take his hand in hers. “Harrison Ford. I own this place.” He’s proud, you can tell. 

 

“Carrie Fisher.” The skin on his hand is rough, no doubt from working all day. It’s warm though and his scent of coffee and pastries is intoxicating. 

 

Silence. His head nods as if asking her to go on. 

 

“I’m a writer,” she tells him, her lips like a pink line on her face. “Obviously.” She laughs, motioning towards the computer and notebook. Charlotte smiles knowingly and turns around to leave.  _ Funny, I forgot she was here,  _ Carrie thinks. 

 

“So I see,” Harrison laughs back, his eyes the tiniest bit crinkled. Their hands are still intertwined.  _ We should let go _ . And so she does. Her hand falls to her lap slowly, never touching anything on the way. She keeps it there, unmoved, a token on of their meet-cute. “Well, best get to it then,” he smiles. 

 

She nods and turns back around, facing her computer screen. “Nice to meet you, Harrison.” She tried his name for the first time, tentatively. 

 

“Yes, nice,” he says it like he’s pondering the words. Then, he replies: “Nice to meet you too, Miss Fisher.” 

 

_ “She smiled her best enigmatic smile at him and was gone again. Rudy watched the space where she had been for a brief moment, smiled to himself, and then was willingly reabsorbed into his car.”  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, this is written by angie and i. we hope y'all like it!

Hearing the now familiar sound of the tiny bell as she opened the door, Carrie let her lungs fill with the delicious and warm scent of freshly roasted coffee and pastries. In less than a week, this little, family oriented coffee shop had become a sort of safe place for her. The creative process was always spectacular when she sat on the corner table, her laptop and a mug of coffee on the ready. 

Something unexpected began to happen, though. Every day, like clockwork, the  handsome, yet not so talkative, owner of the cafe would catch her eye, unknowingly becoming somewhat of a muse for her work.  _ Who would’ve thought?  _

“Hiya doll, the usual?” Charlotte greets, in a sweet, southern drawl. Carrie offers her a soft smile as she nods, making her way to the usual table. 

Then, out of the blue, an overwhelming need to run back to Paul blindsids her.  _ It feels like… like LA with him.  _ The coffee shop where they used to meet and pass their day, content (as content as she believed herself to be before she realized the truth of that relationship: a one sided, emotionally exhausting ordeal).  _ Stop, don’t open that door.  _

The brunette chastises herself as she pulls her laptop from her purse and begins writing: the most effective distraction to her dead and buried love life.

>  
> 
> _ “There was a tap at the window. Ingrid nudged Dinah, shifting into Drive, who looked up and saw Rudy Gendler through the fine, twinkling snow. “Do you remember me?” he called through the glass.  _
> 
> _ Something in Rudy’s face, in his presence, infused Dinah with feelings of longing and a sort of hope. His certainly shone through the snow.” _

 

Carrie looks up from her laptop and takes a long sip of her just-brewed coffee. She just means to take a small break, one or two seconds. However, the shop’s owner catches her attention. No, not  _ catches _ , that would be an understatement. The masculinity his flannel shirt and disheveled hair give him clashes with the swift, seamless way he runs the place, rushing orders around and brewing that unbelievable pot of coffee, ripping her attention away from her, dragging it on the floor of the coffee shop, all the way until she’s naked, vulnerable,  _ bare. _

She fixates on him, almost as though she’s studying him for science class, planning on writing a detailed report on all his mannerisms and facial features, complete with bullet points and a list of sources.  _ A creature of solitude, huh? _

>  
> 
> _ “ Maybe no man is an island, but some sure look like them. All safe and dry and looming on her horizon. As she rolled down the window, she thought, if only she could be that certain, that safe, that dry, that apart. He became not, in that instant, so much her ideal mate, as her ideal. She wanted to become this person. If only she might cast her lot in with his and one day find their two lots inextricably confused. Dinah Kaufman is Rudy Gendler.” _
> 
>  

_ “ _ You planning on taking a break anytime soon?” Carrie hears the gruff voice she hadn't been able to rid her thoughts of. With a subtle smile playing on her lips, she turns her head and feasts her eyes on the broad man before her. Dressing in a simple gray t-shirt and, for the first time since she met him, foregoing the apron, is Harrison Ford. 

“How long have you been checking me out for?” Carrie asks, amused, and offers Harrison a sly smile, her brown eyes shining with mirth at the implication of  _ her  _ catching  _ his  _ attention. She  _ still  _ finds herself fascinated by the grumpy coffee shop owner: the way he seems unfazed by the people constantly around him, his aura of authority yet uncaring of what others did. It’s undeniably interesting to observe him, thrilling like watching your favorite movie for the first time. The mere thought that the object of her thorough observations would take a few seconds of  _ his  _ time spent looking at her enough to comment on her behavior is surprisingly flattering. 

“What makes you so sure I was checking you out?” She can hear the amusement underlining his air of nonchalance. It almost causes a chuckle to escape out of her pursed lips.  _ Almost _ .

“I - umm, want a refill?” Harrison asks her, clearly deflecting her question,  _ embarrassed? _ Carrie gives him a small, secretive smile before turning back to her laptop, reading over the last few words she’s written, deciding that it was indeed time for a break.

“Sure,” she replies, pushing her mug towards her very own barista. He fills it up until he reaches the brim. “You know, coffee is like oxygen to me.” She muses, trying to strike up some twisted version of a conversation. “Without it I’d probably stop talking or walking or doing this thing I do with words, ya know?” 

He chuckles lightheartedly at her silly attempt at small talk: “Writing, you mean?” 

_ Seriously, Carrie? “Doing this thing I do with words”?  _ “Yeah, the putting-words-into-sentences thing.”  _ Yes, an extreme improvement.  _

He stares at her for a brief second, just hovering there in the moment, before he turns around: “I’ll leave you to it, then.” and walks away. 

Carrie shakes her head at her sudden lack of wit and takes a big gulp of her black coffee. The refill is rather strong. 

 

> _ “He asked Dinah for her number and she wrote it on an old receipt with an eyebrow pencil of Ingrid’s and passed it to him. The snowflakes were falling slower now, larger. Rudy slipped the number into his pant pocket, nodded to Ingrid and to Dinah, the strolled off through the swirling snow. An explorer in this metropolitan wilderness. It had taken a blizzard to bring Rudy back into Dinah’s life; Lord knew what it would take to pry him out.” _

 

“Hey darlin’, you want a bite to eat?” Charlotte startles Carrie straight out of her writing trance. 

“Huh?” she questions, battling a migraine that hours of looking at the screen of her computer earned her. 

“Food, dear. It’s eight o’clock.” She explains, pointing at the big, brown, wooden clock on the wall of Dorothy’s. 

“Is it really that late?” Carrie asks rhetorically. “I must’ve got distracted with the time.” She smiles apologetically. “Sorry for hogging the table all day long.” 

Charlotte smiles back and responds: “Oh dear, it’s fine by me. Good to have some female company here regularly, actually.” Carrie frowns so imperceptibly that the lady doesn’t even notice. “It’s Mr. Ford you should probably apologize to.” She says it in a sing-song voice, obviously a joke. It makes Carrie wonder though.  _ A regular female company? Huh, I really have been coming here every day for the past week. _

“I should get home, then.” she smiles, slightly embarrassed. 

“Mr. Ford can fix ya a sandwich if you’d like!” Charlotte presses, a little too obviously so. 

“No, it’s alright.” Carrie shoves her laptop in her purse and swings it on her shoulder. 

Then, out of kitchen emerges Harrison, holding a paper cup of steaming coffee. “Bundle up, it’s cold outside.” he extends the beverage to her with a fleeting smile.  _ Ah, caught it! _

She looks at it quizzically though. ”For the drive home.” he explains, turning back around, resuming the closing-up process. 

“Walk,” Carrie corrects as she takes a sip of her cup. 

“What?” he mumbles, half paying attention.

“I walk home. It’s not far from here, actually.” 

“Oh,” he breathes out, not really sure how to keep a conversation going with her. 

“Anyway, how much do I owe you?” she asks, reaching for her wallet.

“Nothing,” he states, matter-of-factly. “A thanks for picking us.” 

“Okay then.” she replies, pleased with his answer. “Thank you.” she smiles, wrapping her scarf around her exposed neck. Drawing his attention there, Harrison notices a small pendant hanging lonely around her neck.  _ An initial, maybe? Some sort of symbol? _

He doesn’t question her about it, though. 

As she’s opening the door to leave, a cool breeze slips into the coffee shop. The little bell rings. Harrison turns around, finally, and fixes his gaze on her as she turns to the right and starts walking away. 

“You should’ve asked her to stay. You should’ve asked her to eat dinner.” Charlotte says, focused on cleaning up the remaining tables. “It’s cold outside.”

“Come on, Charlotte.” He drags. 

“Your momma would’ve liked her, ya know?” she insists.

“Relentless woman.” he laughs, closing up the blinds. 

 

_ She’ll be alright. It’s not that cold anyway.  _


End file.
